Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Vanity Fair

Jeweled color, bright night
Buying, yelling, laughing, dying
This is where we sell contentment
Happiness and love and lying.
Living stupefied and numb
To danger. Grasping, twisting, crying
Locked together, held by fear
And desperate to drag the
Pilgrim into all the whirling
Color, down into the pit and
Hold him, silent and secure.

Yet he fights the hollow voices
Holds his ears, continues walking
'Til his steps are stopped by ropes
And all is clamor, Screeching, squawking
Judging, hating, hurting, beating
Then he hangs and whimpers. Mocking
Fills his ears and pain fills up
The empty spaces. Suddenly a
Flashing light that drowns and smothers,
All the colors.
Pilgrim falls.
But Faithful rises.
Safe and sheltered, after all.


Lilibeth said...

I'm glad you're writing again.

The Write Girl said...

What a medieval tale! I really enjoyed the imagery in your verses.

Jingle said...

heartfelt and vivid,
lovely job.
keep it up.

Kim Nelson said...

You've created an image-filled mini-tragedy!
Here's Mine:

Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

love your work here.......

we are working to place your blog link in jingle Poetry blog roll,

now, invite you to join another outstanding poetry community, Thursday Poets Rally week 41.

hope to see your contribution.